


Run Rabbit

by Ringshadow



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accounting, Home Renovation, M/M, Original Fiction, Shapeshifting, Vampire Bites, Vampire Fights, Vampires, and a superpowered asshole who won't explain himself, behold something from my hard drive, ordinary dude in extraordinary circumstance, team Nosferatu, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: Just your typical meet cute between a completely ordinary man and the vampire that lives on the property he just bought.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Run Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> You ever get so mad you write a goddamn story to vent. Yeah. Me and the entirety of Twilight.
> 
> I wrote this in 2015 and it sat on my hard drive ever since. Not something I could really submit anywhere. Only read by a few friends. I rediscovered it last night and skimmed through and went, hell with it. At least if I put it on here maybe someone will enjoy reading it.
> 
> This was meant to be part of a larger world originally, which I've likely forgotten all of by now, but that's why there's a few characters late-in that seem like they need explaining. Honestly one's an immortal jackass and the other is zen, that's really all you need to know.

“Hey, man, your storm cellar is open.”

Tristan looked up from his painting at Aaron, who was standing at a window, paint roller still in hand. “Really? It must have blown open last night. It needs a new latch.”

“Man, why did you get such a run down dump?”

To that he only could grin. “The price was right.”

The little cabin was old and hidden in a mire of forest and old abandoned orchard. There were empty, neglected outbuildings, feral cats, and broken fencing. Once probably a small artisan farm, it had gone on the auction block and Tristan had been the only curious bidder. Mostly interested in the ten acre plot of land, he found the house itself was solid, if run down. But hell, he could paint, and considering the whole mess was under twenty grand, it hadn’t been a bad deal at all.

“Why are you keeping it anyway? It’s an anachronism.”

“What, the storm cellar?” He blinked. “We do get tornadoes sometimes around here, you know.”

“Yeah, but not often, and it’s just going to get buried in the winter anyway. What if the doors collapse under snow load?” Aaron was rolling sky blue paint out on the living room wall.

“Oh, damn, you may have a good point. But hell, it’s lasted this long.”

“You say, as one of your barns is about to come down.”

Tristan put his hands on his hips. “You didn’t have to come out here and help me you know. I don’t need someone being all Debbie Downer about this place.”

“Yeah, but you do need a realist voice.” Aaron lifted an eyebrow at him. Multiracial, broad shouldered and tall enough to paint the ceiling without a ladder, he was basically everything that Tristan’s average height, average weight white boy frame wasn’t. “Like, you’re going to be sleeping out here alone, you know.”

“Yup, just me and my shotgun.” He grinned when that made Aaron laugh. “Besides, I can put in the grill pit you’ve been wanting to but your HOA won’t allow.”

“Oh don’t remind me.” He dipped the roller again, pausing to move to the side as Tristan moved the ladder to continue painting along the ceiling edge with a brush. “Can I bring my dog with next time?”

“Rocky? Yeah sure. I do appreciate the help trust me. It’s all piddly shit but it’s a lot of piddly shit, you know?” He paused. “Rocky’s up on rabies right? I’ve got feral cats, raccoons, squirrels, bats, the works.”

“Yeah and he’ll have a damn good time by the sound of it. Wait, bats?”

“Yup.” He gestured with his brush at some cardboard boxes near the entry way, all fresh from the store and cheerfully labeled ‘Bat House.’ “Bats.”

* * *

“Yeah, it’s not just the latch, the whole door handle rig is shot.” Aaron said, studying one of the storm cellar doors. “And the wood’s rotten too.”

“Yeah, I noticed, but the design’s pretty simple. I should be able to build replacements.” Tristan flipped some burgers on the grill, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Aaron disappear down the storm cellar stairs. “Dude.”

He stuck his head back up over the edge. “This is spotless in here.”

“Yeah, I rented my nephews for a day, they hauled out the crap left behind. Mostly expired canned food and emergency supplies I didn’t want to touch. Then it was just a matter of sweeping and mopping.”

He came back up and closed the doors behind him, though all that was holding them shut was the forty-five degree angle tilt of the doorway. “That’s a nice amount of room in there. Do you have the tools to replace the doors?”

“Let me guess, you do?” He got the burgers off the grill and onto plates.

“I’ll bring them by next weekend.” Aaron accepted one of the plates, assembling his burger. “Don’t, by the way. I know I don’t need to help you with everything, but hell, this is a nice break. It’s quiet here.” He gestured out at the trees. “Wouldn’t want to be out here all of the time, though. It’d get boring.”

“I doubt it, there’s a lot of work to do out here.”

“Just remember, all work and no play makes Tristan a dull boy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

* * *

_Whump_

Tristan jerked awake, rubbing his eyes and sitting up slowly. The bed was an island in the room surrounded by a sea of boxes. The rest of the furniture was still in its moving blankets, reduced by night into dark blobs along the wall. The only light in the room came from the alarm clock, dim purple numbers lighting up the room just enough to be totally useless.

_Whump_

That was enough to send him staggering out of bed, picking up one of the bright emergency level flashlights he owned and staggering down the hall. The house was dark and silent, and he turned on lights as he went, moving through the halls and kitchen then stepping out the door onto the back porch, turning on the flashlight. The powerful white beam lit up the night, catching the eyes of a deer along the tree line.

And the door to the storm cellar, flapping open as the occasional gust of wind passed it.

He groaned and crossed the yard, holding the flashlight loosely at his side and putting his shoulder to the door and swinging it closed, where it slammed into its frame with a heavy thud. This done, he got a thick stick from the yard and jammed it through the door handles, holding the doors closed together and trudging back toward the house.

It was only once he was inside, and had shut the door behind him, that he started wondering how the door, which was solid wood and weighed at least ten pounds, and was being held closed by its own weight, had come open in relatively mild wind.

And by the morning he’d already forgotten about it.

* * *

The outbuildings of the property were a treasure trove of strange antiquity and useless garbage. Tristan had spent days going through it before moving in, and found himself still mired in it afterwards. The hay hadn’t been moldy so he’d dealt with it by putting up a notice at the local tractor supply store that he’d give it away to anyone who showed up with a truck. Two days later the barn was emptied as an almost never ending parade of trucks showed up to take advantage. He’d used it to get people to help him identify some of the other things he had.

The antique tractors—pre-1970, from what little Tristan had been told—would have to be assessed later, and all their various contraptions. He had endless leather tack for horses, most of it appearing to be broken or destroyed by time. Tools he could only make intelligent guesses at, he’d actually started taking pictures of them and putting them on his social networking accounts online to see if anyone could identify them. Mostly he got creative and perverted suggestions.

He also found a coffin.

At first Tristan had tried to write it off as a decorative chest but found after a while, that simply wasn’t an option. He’d found it inside an old open shipping crate, lifted off the ground by stacked four by fours. He was no expert on antiques of any kind, but it certainly looked old, and was solid wood. Walnut or something, with carved edges and a fairly intricately carved top. The lining was still there, if a bit torn in places, and felt like silk. The only thing inside was a cane or walking stick, white with a carved head in the shape of a flying dove. The material of the dove was smooth and cool, and he wondered if it was ivory. He left it there though.

Beyond initial investigation he didn’t touch it much, because it creeped him out. Especially since it was, by far, the cleanest thing in the outbuilding he found it in. There was barely any dust on it at all. He tossed a tarp over it for the principle of the thing, since it was probably worth a chunk of money, but he wondered about the morality of selling someone’s coffin.

Well assuming it had been someone’s. It had to have been, right, coffins only got sold for one reason. Unless a previous owner of the house had been a funeral director, he supposed, but that seemed unlikely. He decided to label it a low priority and put it on the list of things to have assessed by experts in the subject matter.

Still, around his job he managed to get the property cleaned up and out, and continue prettying it up. Once some paint was on and the yard was tamed, it started looking like a house again. He marked off where he wanted the brick oven and fire pit, and put his lawn furniture together. And almost most importantly, in his opinion, he got his gargoyles on the roof eaves. He’d had the statues forever, sitting in original packing in storage, but now at last he could put them up.

“So instead of Little House on the Prairie, it’s Gothic Cabin in the Woods?” Aaron wanted to know.

“A man’s home is his castle. A castle needs statues.” He’d replied. Aaron had put up his hands and gone back to his circular saw.

He didn’t tell Aaron about the coffin, figuring the other man would have taken it as a bad portent of some kind. He didn’t tell anyone about it, actually. And in the end, he decided that was simultaneously the best and worst decision he could have made.

* * *

He still wasn’t used to how dark it got in the country. He was maybe twelve miles outside town, and his entrance road was a quarter mile. There were no street lights, or habitual city glow, or neighbor’s lights. Just whatever lights he had on, and whatever light came down from the moon. He also hadn’t gotten used to how noisy it was. Yeah, there were no cars, or sounds of technology besides what was in the house. Instead it was the every omnipresent sound of nature, and he never was sure how to read it.

Still, he knew something had changed when he was sitting at his computer, doing his finances, and everything outside went quiet. It took a few minutes, but everything slowly trailed off, down to a faint whisper of wind. There was noise in the distance but everything close was dead silent. His phone showed no inclement weather, so after several long tense moments of waiting, only for the silence to continue, he stood and stalked through the house, grabbing his flashlight and heading for the backdoor.

He’d barely opened it before he froze. Even with no lights on, the open backyard was fairly visible, the moon was bright and he could clearly make most things out. He’d put together a seating area, with benches and a covered swinging bench. And, even in the dim light, it was very clear that someone was sitting there. On his swing, in his backyard, in the middle of the country and the middle of the night. Swinging, very slowly.

Unable to help it, he froze entirely, hand clutching the flashlight and watching the stranger. He couldn’t see details, just a body form. Light came from where’d opened the door and trailed in a line across the yard, but if the person saw it, or him, they gave no indication, just continued the silent vigil on his swing. And that was enough that his being baffled broke to an angry, defensive crest, stepping away from the door and down the hall to retrieve his shotgun, turning on the outside lights and stepping onto the porch proper as he brought the gun up. “Hey!”

The swing was on the edge of the spread from the sodium light, but he could now see a shorter person in dirty jeans and a worn hoodie, pale feet bare in the grass and hands in hoodie pockets. The person, a guy he thought, appeared to be shaved entirely bald, no hair or sign of hair. He also showed little to no reaction to Tristan’s yell so he stepped off the porch and took a few steps closer, looking down the barrel of the gun.

“Hey! You’re on private property. What’s your business here?”

“Oh, so you’re the new owner of the household then.” And the figure turned to look at him.

Tristan froze.

Sitting in front of him, on his swing, was someone or something decidedly… not normal. Male, pale as the moon, pointy flared ears. The face was fine boned, but the bone structure was off somehow. Pale crystal blue eyes that were definitely wrong, very definitely wrong, but he couldn’t really say how because he had a hard time looking away from them. Yet he still saw the fangs.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t twitch. Every part of his instinct was saying to turn and run but he was absolutely rooted to the ground. Meanwhile, his upper brain was trying to figure out how some goth weirdo had gotten all the way out here into his backyard, never mind that he was fairly certain that this wasn’t just some goth, impossible as that was.

Then the stranger stood up, and his finger seized on the trigger, the shotgun going off and birdshot peppering the ground and the swing where the stranger had been standing. Had been, of course, because he was no longer there.

Tristan numbly lowered the shotgun a bit, rubbing one of his ringing ears. Had he just tried to shoot a hallucination of some kind? Maybe a good thing, because he’d have a hard time defending this to the cops…

“That wasn’t nice.”

He froze and slowly turned around, looking down at the stranger, who now stood about three feet behind him. “Who… how…”

The stranger took a hand out of his pocket and put one finger on the barrel of the shotgun, a dirty hooked claw, or fingernail, gleaming a bit as the stranger gently pushed the barrel of the gun down the rest of the way. “I require the use of your bath.” The stranger’s voice was soft, and warm, and went perfectly with the blue whirlpool eyes. Not so much the fangs though.

“Um. Okay?” He finally said, the gun dangling at his side in a limp hand, and he watched the stranger walk into his house, trailing behind after he’d realized he should at least try to keep an eye on the situation.

* * *

The shower didn’t run for too long. Tristan sat on the couch, gun beside him, leaning on his knees and staring stonily at the closed door. At this point he wasn’t sure what to think. Logic would dictate that he had a homeless druggie in his house, using his shower. His eyes, however, had just seen a disappearing, reappearing fanged person. Apparently, logic was not applicable here.

“What the hell has happened to my life?” He put his head in his hands, rubbing his face then just sitting there, waiting.

The door opened and the figure padded out, drying his face with one towel and another tied around his waist. His body was just as pale as his face, beads of water still gleaming here and there. “I would like use of your laundry before I get redressed. No sense in undoing this work.”

“Who are you?” He replied. “Why are you here?”

“I live here. Who are you?”

“What? This was abandoned property. I bought it on auction for the back taxes.” Tristan was baffled. “No one had been here a better part of a year. Death in the family or something.”

“Yes, I know. Gene passed. I’d known him all his life, and what family he had left didn’t know about me. For the best, I suppose.” The stranger walked across the room, toe nails (claws?) tapping on the wooden floor, drying his scalp with the towel then draping it over one shoulder. “Now this is your house. I thought it best to introduce myself once you’d settled in. I don’t come around too often but I am here all the same. Surely you found my coffin?”

“Your coffin?” Tristan repeated.

The stranger flopped next to him, Tristan leaning away immediately. “Yes. You never said your name.”

“Tristan Foster. Now who are you? WHAT are you?”

There was a pause, during which the pointy eared stranger pondered his strange, long fingered, clawed hands. “I suppose this is rather hard to hide, now. You can call me Chip.”

“Chip?”

“Chip.” When Tristan stared at him silently, the figure shook his head. “Chester Harold Pedersen, but I’ve been ‘Chip’ for many years now.”

“Pedersen. That was on the cane, I thought it was a brand name.”

“No, it’s mine.”

Silence stretched again. Tristan watched him, started counting, and gave up at thirty five counts. “So, you don’t breathe, apparently.”

“Only when I have to talk, otherwise, it’s very slow.” Chip half smiled at him. “You’re catching on.”

“I’d rather you just came out with it and explained this.”

“Fine then, Tristan. I’m dead. I’ve been dead a very long time.” He stood back up, walking over to the bathroom and coming out with his clothes. “Is the laundry in the same place?”

“Uh, yes?” Tristan stood and followed him, watching the near naked apparently dead man load his clothes into the washer and measure out detergent. “You live here?”

“On the property. Usually outdoors. I rather like those bat houses you put up. Very safe, during the day. Thank you.” Chip turned the washer on.

Unable to help it anymore, Tristan reached out a hand and set it on one Chip’s upper arms, finding skin that was cool to the touch. Not like someone with cold hands, no, this was almost refrigeration cold. “Oh, wow.”

Chip rolled his eyes and grabbed the hand, sticking it on his hairless chest instead and leaving it there. They stood there like that, Chip passively looking at him and Tristan’s eyes getting wider and wider as he waited, and waited, to feel a heartbeat. None came, until after probably several minutes when Chip finally sucked in a breath, and only then did Tristan feel an answering faint thump that might have been a heart.

“How is this possible?” Tristan asked, pulling back his hand and fighting the urge to shake it out. “You are dead. Mostly.”

“Properly, I’m undead. I’m a vampire, young man.” Chip’s voice was patient, walking back by him to the living room to sit back down on the couch. “And no, I don’t want to drink your blood. I generally don’t bother with people these days. Too much trouble.”

“Vampires aren’t real.”

Chip sprawled on the couch, nearly naked and the towel barely covering him, offering an open armed shrug to this. “Yet here I am.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing except a safe place to sleep, and the very occasional use of your facilities. Leave my coffin where it is, and try not to shoot at me the next time I sit out on your furniture. That is all.”

He rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what he was being told. A vampire renter. Sort of. “Do I get anything out of this arrangement?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the house getting broken into if that’s what you mean. I keep an eye on the property. I’m a bit less active in the winter, that said.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. For now.”

That brought him up. “For now?”

“We shall see. I was fairly close to Gene, the man who passed away. He was kind to me.”

Tristan gave up and went to the kitchen for a beer, bringing two back and offering one to Chip, not surprised at all when it was dismissed with a casual flick of one of the strange hands. “So you’re not going to hurt me, bite me, rape my mind, or make me your servant?”

“Why would I do that? Sounds dreary and like a good way to call attention to myself. Besides, I haven’t had a manservant since the late 1800s.”

Tristan drank his beer and stared off to keep from staring at Chip.

“Why do you have a rabbit tattoo on your chest?”

He jumped, looking at Chip. “Have you been spying on me?”

“No, I can see it though.” He reached out a finger, claw tip just barely touching below Tristan’s right collar bone. “It’s right here.”

“You can see it through my shirt.” He said dumbly.

“It has a top hat on. And a watch.”

He sighed, and pulled the collar of his shirt aside to show most of it. It was a fairly realistically portrayed rabbit in a run, and did indeed have a top hat on and a pocket watch in midair, clipped to one of its ears. “I ran track in high school. Did hurdles and hundred meter dash. My team mates called me Rabbit.”

“Rabbit.” Chip studied him, then nodded. “Yes. I like it. Gene had a tattoo, here on his arm.” Chip patted one of his own forearms. “Said it had something to do with a country called Vietnam.”

“You seem like you miss him.” He said after a moment. So the previous owner, which had passed away, had been a Vietnam vet? Maybe he should look up the history of the house.

“He was a good friend. Ferals like me don’t get to have many of those. That is our lot in life.” Chip shifted on the couch, folding his legs under him.

“Listen, this is… I don’t want to believe this is real, but if this is I feel like I should be asking you a lot of questions.” He drained more of his beer, shifting to look at Chip. “Like what you mean by feral.”

“Just as it sounds. I generally live outside, usually in my bat form. I generally don’t seek human things, or humans. I’ve given myself to the wild as much as I can, as it were. It’s a hard life, sometimes, but carries less threat in many ways.” Chip shrugged. “The downside is this, of course.” He held up his hands and pointed at one of his ears. “This is symptomatic of me not drinking human blood. If I mainly drank human blood I’d appear human, nearly indistinguishable in fact. Animal blood’s not so good for us. We get by but… it has an affect over time.” He paused. “You realize that since I just met you I shouldn’t tell you more than that.”

“That’s fair, I guess.” He paused, then smirked. “The ears are a bit obvious.”

“Perhaps, but they hear marvelously. Now then, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“Oh, working with numbers! Rather an important job still as I understand it. And you’re living here alone, though I have heard another come and go.”

“Yeah, I’m single if that’s what you’re asking.” He killed the beer, making a face at Chip.

“There is nothing wrong with a dignified bachelorhood.”

“Were you ever married?”

“Quite obviously not, though back in the day my malady was not as large of a problem as you’d think.” Chip stared off. “People were more spread out then, and there were less of them.” He paused, then looked at Tristan. “You are tired.”

“Well, yeah I’ve been up since six this morning.” He admitted, struggling not to yawn. “I have tomorrow off though, so…”

“Nonsense. Retire. I’ll let myself out the back door once my clothes are clean and dry.”

Tristan stared at him. “You really think I’ll be able to sleep while you walk around in my house?”

Chip only stared at him with those deep whirlpool eyes. “Go to bed, Rabbit.”

So he gave up and did, wondering as he drifted off if he’d been compelled to do so. The thought did nothing to stop him from slipping into slumber.

* * *

Tristan woke up to an empty, and cleaner, house. The rest of the laundry was done, and the floor was swept. He’d been kind of wanting to write off the night before as a dream, or a hallucination, but walking around and seeing chores done without his involvement, and his shotgun still sitting on the couch, kind of negated that thought. Chip had also left a note on the table written on a sheet of printer paper, thanking him and remarking that if he wanted to talk in the future he just had to step outside after nightfall and call Chip’s name, and he’d show up, though it might take a few minutes for him to arrive.

The ground outside, and his swing, were still peppered with birdshot. He spent part of the day trying to clean up that mess as well as he could, then cleaned his shotgun and put it back up. Only then did he go out to his outbuildings and pull the tarp off the coffin, staring at it for a long time.

Pale, cold skin. Barely breathing, no appreciable heartbeat. Inhuman hands, ears, eyes. Fangs.

Vampire.

He had a feral vampire knocking around on his property, sleeping rough.

A vampire named fucking CHIP, of all things. Not some fancy flowery name like most of the books. What was it, Lestat? Nope. He had Chip. A pale, creepy, elegant hairless critter with a great voice and better eyes. Probably the voice and eyes had a lot to do with what he was. And what was probably most disturbing is how Chip played off what he was, and where he was. Yeah he lived here, what about it seemed to be the attitude on display.

Tristan sighed and pulled the tarp back over the coffin, and wondered why Chip needed it if he wasn’t sleeping it. Probably it wasn’t worth asking the question. It wasn’t like he could tell anyone about this anyway without them thinking he was crazy. And in reality, the arrangement Chip had seemed like a pretty fair deal.

He puttered around the rest of the day, whiling time and daylight away. He knew he was doing it, but curiosity was setting in. On one hand he wanted to make sure he wasn’t crazy, and on the other hand, the idea that someone like Chip existed was kind of fascinating. So, come nightfall he was sitting on his back porch, reading a book, his stereo speakers turned toward the open windows with jazz music playing on low. As the sun slid down he saw the bats take off out of the barn and bat houses, in a cloud of dark flittery things, and after a while one came to his porch, landing and hanging upside down from the table umbrella, wings hanging half open and staring at him.

“Chip?” He asked. Well that or he was about to get rabies.

The bat blurred and disappeared into almost a wisp of fog, then Chip snapped into existence standing next to the table, his clothes still worn, but clean at least. “No, you aren’t insane.”

“Thanks. Good to know.”

He sat and reached over, taking Tristan’s e-reader and peering at the screen. “Bram Stoker. Really, now.” He made a face and handed it back. “Don’t consider it research material.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “Not a fan?”

“Dracula is such a smug self-righteous bastard. I’d say he’s a ponce but he’s an insult to all the ponces in the world. Stoker got a few things right, and some things terribly wrong.”

“Well, evidently you don’t like sunlight, and you can turn into a bat. And mist?”

“Correct. But if you drive a stake into my heart it’s just going to piss me off.”

“I don’t know why but it seems like a bad idea to anger someone who can turn into mist at will. You could, say, go into that form, let me inhale you then reform.”

Chip paused. “That honestly hadn’t occurred to me as a form of attack. I’ll have to remember that. That said, I’m hungry, so I’ll be off.”

“Hey. Before you go, why do your eyes fuck with my head so bad?”

“They are?” Chip lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting.” And that said, he snapped out of existence and a bat flew away.

“You asshole!” Tristan yelled after him, and distantly heard a stuttered squeak that sounded a lot like a laugh.

* * *

And so, it became a habit. Tristan would come out on the deck at nightfall with a book, and would stay there maybe half an hour, seeing if Chip would show up. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t, which Tristan figured was fair enough. He wasn’t trying to stalk the vampire or anything, just casually hanging out. Beyond that, he tried to go about business as usual, trying to fix up the house and property and go about his job.

He also did some research on the property and turned up not a whole lot. Just basic public information, and some old news articles about the farm when it was informational. Some deeper digging found the former owner’s obituary and some information about him. Gene had indeed been a war vet, Korea and Vietnam. The farm had once grown heritage apples and tomatoes, and a lot of the plants still remained. That rather explained the tomato plants that had multicolor tomatoes. Once he knew that he started picking them and taking them into work with him. Why not?

Then one night he stepped outside and heard voices distantly arguing, from the direction of his barn. So he cheerfully grabbed his flashlight and headed down to see what the issue was, wondering if Chip had caught a trespasser on his property. Which turned out be true, sort of, because he found Chip standing by one of the fences, arms crossed and talking angrily at another skinny pale person sitting on the fence.

The newcomer wasn’t bald, or pointy eared, but when he looked up a huge red flag popped up in Tristan’s head. Another vampire? Well, either way the guy was in nice jeans, a fashionable t-shirt and boots, and grinned when Tristan walked up, showing the fangs off.

Alright then, he thought, looking at Chip. “Friend of yours?”

“Just someone passing through and didn’t realize someone had territory out here.” Chip seemed on edge somehow, pointy ears pressed back against his skull.

“I was just telling him that he clearly has been out of doors too long.” Said the newcomer. He’d probably been multiracial, but a lack of bloodflow still rendered his skin into an odd pallor. His hair was short and dark, eyes a dark swirly red-brown in shade. He almost seemed normal. Almost. “But then, you show up. Should I thank you for the appetizer, ‘Chip’?”

Tristan blinked, and took a step back slowly. “I’m not on the menu.”

The strange vampire blinked, then looked at Chip. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“This is my territory, traveler, and you’d do well to remember your manners as a guest.” Chip replied tightly, fangs clearly showing as he talked.

“If it’s your territory what’s this guy doing here then?” The new guy hopped off the fence easily.

“I live here. You’re trespassing.” Tristan replied, trying to keep his voice steady, almost sure that showing any signs of nervousness would be a bad idea.

There was a long, tense silence, the newcomer’s voice showing confusion, then disgust, then seeming to change as Tristan watched into a mask of anger and menace. “It’s good I came along, ‘Chip.’ You’ve clearly been living like this too long if this is how you live.”

“Rabbit?” Chip said. Tristan glanced at him, taking another step back, shifting his grip on his flashlight so he could use it as a bludgeon if he had to.

“Rabbit?” The other vampire laughed. “Now that’s appropriate, because man you need to eat before you lose what’s left of yourself. Do you need me to hold him down and open him up for you?”

“Rabbit, run.” Chip’s voice changed through the sentence, then word ‘run’ coming out in a high pitched feral screech.

Tristan needed no encouragement, turning and digging his toes in and fleeing back towards the house. The other vampire laughed, then roared, and the sounds of chaos opened up behind him as he tried to focus on his destination and not what was happening behind him, making himself not look back. He was far from in the right footwear for this but he adapted and sprinted flat out to the house, leaping one of his lawn chairs and skidding to a halt on the deck, wrenching the door open and continuing the run down the hall, stopping in front of the closet with the shotgun and grabbing it, walking back to the back deck as he shoved a shell into place. The next one to chamber would be an incendiary, because if these guys didn’t like the sun, he doubted they liked fire either.

He stood in the open doorway, the gun brought to bear, and watched his yard get torn apart. It was hard to keep track of the fight, even with the yard light on, because the vampires were changing form almost as fast as he could blink. Every time it seemed like a blow was about to be struck, the other would turn into mist, or dodge away as a bat. For a few minutes, it was just the terrible shrieking of bats as they fought in midair, fell and slammed to the ground, then it was people again, the newcomer kneeling straddling Chip’s chest, one clawed hand raised up.

So he fired. He kept the blast high and the shot peppered into the newcomer’s torso and face, making him fall back with a screech. Next to no blood of course, just pockmarked skin and clothes. He kicked out the spent shell and loaded the next round, bringing it back up and stopping there as Chip came up nearly as fast as the newcomer fell back, pouncing with a roar, claws coming out. And this time, something was different as when the newcomer tried to shift, Chip kept grabbing him midchange, arms blurring as he took him back to the ground.

Then, as quickly as it had restarted, everything was still again, the newcomer chest first on the ground, blood oozing from too many wounds to count, Chip crouched over him hissing.

“Apparently, no one taught you manners.” Chip hissed, claws digging further into the other vampire’s back to a screech of pain. “Or told you how it works in the wild. You come on _my_ territory and threaten _my_ human? I should destroy you right now. Consume you and let you ash as a warning to others.”

“I had you. I fucking had you until the mortal shot me.” The other spat, then screamed again when Chip’s hands and claws flexed into his back.

“What do you have loaded into that right now?” Chip asked, lifting his eyes to Tristan’s. They had changed, becoming shining pools of red with only the barest flicks of blue suggesting his real eye color.

“Incendiary.”

“Considering the nature of your crime, I should let him end you.” Chip informed the vampire he held pinned. “But I won’t.” He stood and stepped away, delivering a kick to the other’s jaw in passing. “Get off my land. Don’t let me catch you back here. Because I _will_ consume you if you step foot into my hunting territory again.”

The other vampire shrank away, looking at the other two. Tristan kept the gun up and pointed as the trespasser stood up very slowly and staggered away, changing into bat form mid step and flying into the night, quickly gone from view. Chip stood there several more minutes, staring after the other, not reacting when Tristan stepped up next to him, gun lowered.

“Hey, that was fucking scary. Are you okay?” Tristan wanted to know, looking at Chip’s battered, bloodied form.

“No.” Gone was the angry, screechy voice, replaced by almost a whisper as the vampire suddenly leaned on him. “He’s gone. I can’t smell him anymore.”

“Shit!” He wrapped an arm around Chip’s shoulders, steadying him. “You need help inside?”

“I’ll manage.” But he leaned on Tristan’s arm anyway as they walked up the porch stairs and back inside the house, letting himself get deposited in a kitchen chair.

Tristan left the shotgun on the kitchen table and got some clean washcloths, soaking a few under the tap and bringing them over. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I won the fight but he won the resource war. I burned a lot off moving like that.” Chip unzipped the hoodie and shrugged out of it, wincing as he did. “We don’t bleed or bruise like you do but… the damage is there.”

“Holy shit, dude.” Tristan took the basically destroyed hoodie from him. Chip hadn’t been wearing anything under it, and a good portion of Chip’s torso and arms were marred with smears of dark, drying blood. He was covered in oozing cuts and scratches, and had what looked like a bite mark on one shoulder. “When you guys fight you fight dirty.”

“Yes, I suppose that we do.” Chip rubbed his face then took one of the washcloths, wiping at the mark on his shoulder, wincing.

“That ever happened before?”

“Never, nowhere I’ve ever been. That gent was so far out of line it is barely believable. I am so very sorry that you had to deal with that.”

“You’re sorry? You might have saved my life and got the shit beat out of you in the process. This wouldn’t have happened if I had minded my own business.”

“You don’t know that.”

Tristan pondered him for a moment, then retreated to his room, coming back with one of his plain black zipper hoodies and a pair of flannel pajama pants. “I think your clothes are wasted, man. You’re smaller than me but this could work until I get you some new jeans.” When Chip only wearily nodded, he frowned. “You are going to heal right?”

“Of course, but it will take some time. Probably a few days at least.”

“Will you heal faster if you eat?”

Chip looked up at him, dark shadows under his eyes, which had returned to the normal hypnotic blue color. “Yes, of course. That’s what will allow me to heal in the first place. I’ll have to hunt a lot the next few nights.”

He hesitated, then held out one of his arms. “Here. I figure it’s the least I can do, considering.”

Chip froze and stared up at him again, washcloth dangling limp in one hand and ears twitching once. “I hope you’re serious because I’m not sure I have the ability to say no to such an offer.”

“Just don’t kill me or turn me and I think we’ll be okay. And… could you not bite too deep? I type a lot.” Tristan twitched when Chip took his arm in both hands, one stroking slowly up his inner arm, rolling his wrist to point up. The grip was firm, but gentle, but the fingers were surprisingly cold, more so than he’d thought.

“I won’t bite you at all. What you’re offering me is nothing short of a gift, so I’m going to be gentle about this. Sit down.”

Tristan did, sitting in a kitchen chair across from Chip, twitching a bit under the vampire’s focused gaze. “How exactly is this going to work?” As a reply, Chip pulled his arm up and licked, his cool tongue smoothing along the inner wrist slowly. And almost immediately he got a brief flash of chill there, then only a distant tingle as Chip traced a claw back and forth there, to absolutely no feeling at all. “Your spit is a topical painkiller?”

“And coagulant, yes.” Chip slid out of his chair and knelt on the floor, taking the arm with him, rubbing his cheek and face against Tristan’s hand and wrist, eyes barely open. Tristan swallowed hard, feeling more than a bit nervous about the position they were in. “As for how this is going to work, I’m going to use the tip of one fang to draw a shallow cut then seal it up after. After a few hours you should barely have a scratch.”

“That… sounds okay, I guess.” He swallowed, then trailed into giggling when Chip licked his wrist again. “You have no idea how long it’s been since someone licked anything of mine.”

Chip opened his eyes just to give him an incredulous look from under his brows, then shook his head, turning his face to one side and using the tip of one fang to draw a line up Tristan’s wrist, barely two inches long. Tristan’s hand twitched, watching this but only feeling the most distant sting, then gaped when Chip simply wrapped his mouth around the wound, the vampire’s eyes closing again and leaning against his legs, more or less curled up at his feet.

Though whatever was in Chip’s saliva had effectively killed off any pain from the cut, he more than felt the rest. The grip of Chip’s hands and mouth was gentle and insistent, but the pull of blood being sucked out that wound could be felt all the way up his arm and into his torso. It didn’t hurt, exactly, it was more a confused feeling, a crackle of thrill and maybe something like pleasure tangled with distant horror and a creeping chill. Further confusing it was Chip’s face, which had melted into an obvious expression of glee, the smile far from hidden around Tristan’s wrist.

And, disturbingly, with each swallow he could visibly see the change in Chip’s body. His skin brightened and flushed, just barely but it was there, a breath of life in a body that looked pale and dead as marble. The wounds stopped oozing, and started sealing up as he watched. It was an odd process too, because it seemed like things changed as he blinked, not as he was actually looking.

Then Chip’s tongue was slowly dragging over his wrist again, leaving behind a fresh, scabbed over scratch he could have gotten practically anywhere. He pulled his arm back to look at it, rubbing next to it and feeling tingling skin that had feeling slowly returning to it. Chip stayed where he was, leaning against Tristan’s legs with a cheek propped on one of his knees, eyes still shut and still smiling.

“This looks a lot like a scratch one of my ex’s cats gave me some years ago actually.” Tristan finally said, testing out his voice.

“It’s a clean wound. Should heal fast.” Chip’s voice was muffled into the leg of Tristan’s jeans.

“That was… really impressive and freaky to watch. You look a lot better.”

“I feel a lot better. Compared to what I’ve been living on your blood is haute cuisine.” He snickered just a bit. “Thank you. I’m going to stay here a few minutes if you don’t mind, let it finish working its magic.”

“That’s fine, I probably shouldn’t stand up immediately anyway.” He pondered the scratch some more. “You know what’s odd? It almost felt good. Almost.”

“Mm? Oh. That’s normal. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s normal to feel good about getting my blood sucked?” Tristan asked incredulously.

“In this case, yes. Call it part of our magic, we can induce euphoria in those we feed off of. It’s rather subject to who we’re biting but if we do it right we can actually, er… cause the person we’re feeding off of to… orgasm.” Chip’s voice got more and more uncomfortable as he explained. “I tried to distance myself from that magic for this. I didn’t figure you’d appreciate it.”

“You’re right, I’m not sure I would have.” He slouched a bit, then reached out a finger and flicked the edge of one of Chip’s ears. “Has anyone told you that you look like a much more pleasant version of Dracula from the silent film Nosferatu?”

“The actor’s name is Max Schreck.” Chip stirred, shifting to look up at Tristan. “You’re not the first one to draw that comparison. That movie… disturbs me. It’s far too uncanny to be a guess. I am left assuming that someone who worked on that film had seen a feral vampire, or a drawing of one. Something.” He shook his head. “Even my kind’s not sure why those of us who live wild start to look like this. It’s rather inconvenient.” He shifted more, than stood up slowly, stretching then glancing at the clothes on the table. “I think I will change into those if you don’t mind.”

“No, go ahead. Your clothes are shot, man.”

“I’ve had them years now so I suppose it was time.” Chip collected the hoodie and PJ pants and padded down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Tristan sitting at the table, rubbing the sealed up scratch on his wrist.

* * *

“Tristan, man, you look like ass.”

He looked up from his computer and mustered a smile at Aaron, who was leaning on his cubicle wall with a cup of coffee. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll be okay.”

“What the hell out there could have possibly kept you up?”

“The fuckin’ barn cats got into a fight. Had to hose them down and run them off. It was ridiculously loud.” He sat back and drained some of his coffee. “You still coming by next weekend, help me start on the brick oven?”

“Shit, sorry man I forgot to tell you. One of my kids has a thing at their school, I have to go.”

“Don’t worry about it. Got any plans for lunch?” He looked at his watch.

“It is about that time isn’t it. Deli?”

The deli down the street was a mainstay of Tristan’s diet, mostly because it was the healthiest thing in the area. He could get lunch without feeling like he had to get his arteries cleaned out later, and their salads were actually decent as well. He was sitting at the table, rubbing at the scratch at his arm, when Aaron brought their order over.

“Where’d you get that?” Aaron wanted to know, setting the tray down and sitting across from him.

“War wound.” He managed a smile, taking his sandwich. “So which kid has a thing?”

“Angela. I’m all in trouble for forgetting, too, even though they forgot to put it on the calendar until yesterday.” Aaron shrugged.

“Well, I’m sure whatever Angela’s doing is more important than home improvement. We got a lot of good weather left man, it can wait.”

“Yeah, but think about how great it’ll be once it’s done. Your place will be the best location for poker games and stuff.” He chewed, watching Tristan’s expression change. “Oh come on, man, don’t tell me you moved out to the country to turn into an official hermit. I worry about you.”

“I know, I know.” Tristan sighed. “I just get bored, okay? People get boring. I mean, I like them and they’re my friends but…”

“I’d be insulted but we’re accountants, being boring is in our nature.”

“I suppose. The house has given me something to do and focus on if nothing else.” He dug back into his sandwich, determined to not think about it too much. “And I swear if you start nagging me about dating again…”

Aaron laughed. “Someone has to or you’ll forget. There are things out there besides numbers.”

He thought about Chip fighting, then curled up at his feet, healing. “Yeah, I know.”

“Maybe you’re less vanilla than you think.”

Tristan blinked and looked at Aaron. “Says the most vanilla man I know.”

Aaron turned his nose up. “You know I’m the caramel latte lord of love.”

Tristan choked on his drink.

* * *

Later, driving home, Tristan wondered if Aaron had some kind of point. It had been quite a while since he’d gone on any serious dates. He had gone on a few here and there, nothing serious or anything, and found the girls he’d gone out with to be pretty, and charming and so very, very dull. Sitting in a decent restaurant and being momentarily hopeful when the girl mentioned a book club only for it to be a disappointment when he found out the club she was in was following whatever popular insipid book was out got frustrating after a while.

And after a while the process bored him as well, and even the potential of T&A down the line wasn’t enough to keep him mentally engaged. So he hung out with friends because even if card games and bowling were also tedious, at least he liked the people he was doing it with and they weren’t going to expect him to pay for dinner.

His last serious girlfriend, Renee, hadn’t been boring, but she’d also been crazy, bordering on obsessive even. When she had started grilling him on who he was eating lunch with and started accusing him of having some kind of bromance with Aaron, who couldn’t get straighter if you used tools approved by NASA, he had decided he’d had enough. Then he’d had to deal with several weeks of her filling up his voice mail and spamming his email box and stalking him where he worked. After that mess, spending Friday night bowling with his work friends sounded just fine to him.

But damn, he got bored.

And letting himself into his house and seeing a sign he hadn’t noticed on one of the coat closet doors, a little note that said “please don’t open until nightfall”, he broke into a wide grin. Fine, he’d potentially had a brush with death the night before, but Chip wasn’t boring at least.

So he cooked himself dinner and got the rest of his stuff unpacked, finally. He got his home entertainment system, his television, video game consoles and other various errata, arranged correctly with the cords properly run. He was throwing his laundry in when he found what remained of Chip’s old clothes, picking up the hoodie and holding it up to the light with a low whistle. It wasn’t so much a piece of clothing as shreds of fabric being held together by threads.

“He really did get beat to shit.” He dropped the hoodie back into the trashcan in his laundry room, rubbing his eyes. He really needed to find out more about who and what Chip was. Yeah, it was rude and kind of invasive, but the guy was sleeping in his coat closet after drinking his blood. Probably he had some right to ask at this point.

The last of the sun had just slipped under the horizon when the coat closet door opened and Chip stepped out, stretching out and yawning, then waving sheepishly at Tristan, who was sitting on the couch in full view of him. “Evening.”

“Decided to sleep in the house, huh?”

“Yes. A bit of extra security while everything healed, I suppose.” He stepped over, looking down at his current attire. “And these pants are very comfortable. Not very dignified. But comfortable.”

“Well, they’re meant for sleeping in honestly.” He gestured for Tristan to sit. “So, I’m wondering, can you absolutely only digest blood?”

Chip flopped down and pulled his feet up to sit cross legged, rubbing his eyes. He looked, in Tristan’s opinion, more like a scruffy half-stoned college student than a vampire. Pointy ears and all. “Well, uh. I used to drink wine, but it made me so drunk. When you don’t have a lot of blood and you don’t process things normally…”

“Well, here.” He stood and went to the kitchen, coming back with two mugs. “Have some tea. You’re always cold.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Chip took the mug though, cradling it in both hands in an almost reverent pose. “I suppose this means that you are not upset with me?”

“No, not at all.” He sat back down, holding his own mug of coffee. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions though.”

“I suppose.”

“When did you become a vampire?”

“Oh, those kind of questions. 1816, in… I believe it was late May, but at the time I hadn’t a calendar.”

Tristan gaped. “1816? Seriously? Wow. I assume it wasn’t something you intended to happen.”

“Oh, no. Not hardly. I was travelling by tall ship into Boston. Chartered ship, tea and… spices, I think. I was just hitching a ride to see about procuring a job in America.” He paused, staring into the middle distance, a fingernail tapping his mug slowly. “There was a man on board. A foreigner, from somewhere on the Mediterranean Sea. I think, maybe, he was Egyptian. He was always draped in fine cloth and only came above deck in the evening or at night. Even during rough seas and storms he was a very calm man. I remember that much. It was a long time ago.”

“He’s the one that changed you?”

“Yes, after we made port at Boston. He said he knew a good place to stay until I got my feet under myself. Honestly, I do not hate him or scorn him for this life. He gave me a bit of money until I found a job, working at night at a printer as a typesetter.”

Tristan took a long drink of his coffee and looked around his living room, at the shelves of books, the television, hell even the lamps. “You’ve seen a lot of dramatic change in your life.”

“I suppose that I have.” He reached out, picking the TV remote up off the coffee table. “Gene had to show me how to use one of these. I remember the first time I sat in a movie theater. They were actual movies, then. Not talkies, which is really what’s on display now.”

“Why’d you go feral?”

“Great Depression. Lost the vast majority of my finances, and the less money you have the harder it is to hide.” Chip shrugged. “I’d met a few ferals before that, and honestly, it’s not a difficult life. As long as you can hunt, and can accept the changes, it’s not hard to get by.”

“As long as you’re happy, I guess.”

“I generally am.” He took a cautious sip of the tea then pondered it. “I remember drinking tea a long, long time ago.”

“Does it taste the same?”

“I honestly don’t recall.” Chip tilted his head at Tristan. “Now what about you? The happy bachelor accountant in his castle? I do like the gargoyles, by the way.”

“Hah, thanks. I’ve always liked gargoyles. As for me, there’s really nothing impressive about me. I was a nerd all through high school, debate team, AV Club, the works. I’m good with math and numbers but not enough to be a far end mathematician. Accounting seemed the natural choice and a good accountant can almost always find work.”

“There is an art to making the numbers line up right, I was once told.”

“Very true. I’ve been lucky in that I’ve had steady work since I graduated. This is my first house. I’m no farmer but I guess I can learn a bit if it will keep the apples and tomatoes coming.” He set the mug on a coaster, considering. “As for the bachelor bit, I’m fine alone for now.”

“I cannot judge, I never really courted either. There were those I was… fond of, but it’s not easy for my kind to carry on such relations on a schedule that a mortal would appreciate.”

Tristan blinked, and then put his head in his hands. “Oh. Right. You’re dead. That would rather put a kibosh on a lot of body chemistry including sex drive.”

“We get a lot of pleasure from feeding, honestly, so generally it’s nothing we worry too much about.” He paused. “I think the last time I had sex was the late seventies.”

“Oh, wow, I wasn’t even born yet.” Tristan laughed, unable to help it. “Well, was it memorable at least?”

“I was at the time staying at what I believe they called a ‘hippie commune.’ It was, shall we say, very memorable.” Chip grinned.

Tristan snickered, relaxing on the couch, watching Chip pick the remote back up and turn the TV on after a few tries. The vampire clearly had the basic idea at least, and was flipping the channels a few moments later, head tilted to one side and expression cycling between horror, confusion, and bemusement. Eventually he found original Zorro episodes and left it there, slouching on the couch and watching the show.

“I take it you’re not going out to eat tonight?” Tristan asked, curious.

“I thought I would after you retire.” Chip said after a pause, looking at him. “I normally would not want to take advantage of your hospitality by being inside so much, but you seem to enjoy my company.”

“Yeah, I do. Honestly I don’t mind you being in the house. You’ve lived here longer than I have and it isn’t like you’re going to eat all the food in my fridge.” He smiled. “I will occasionally have guests by though.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I honestly find the bat houses quite comfortable.”

“Is flying fun?”

“Yes, very enjoyable. A bit less so when it gets very cold, but flying is my main pleasure since deciding to live out of doors.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.” Tristan got off the couch, picking up his mug in one hand and using the other to rub over Chip’s hairless scalp like he was messing up hair. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. See you tomorrow?”

Chip suffered the attention grandly, smiling. “Most probably. Sleep well, Rabbit.”

* * *

Tristan picked Chip up some clothes the next day, a few pairs of jeans, some plain shirts, and another hoodie. There was a cabinet he wasn’t using in the laundry room, and after an initial wash he folded the clothes back up and put them there. He’d rather settled on Chip being around, not as a housemate exactly but being around. After all, Chip was the most interesting thing in his life for quite some time.

Chip didn’t show up that night, but he did show up first thing the next, which was a Friday night. Tristan had gone out to dinner with Aaron’s family, which he got invited to from time to time because Aaron’s wife thought he needed to be more social. And honestly, he enjoyed the hell out of it even if their kids were pure evil on the hoof. Which added to it, really, there was something about watching an eight year old sculpt something questionable out of their mashed potatoes that tickled his funnybone.

“I’m sorry about my absence yesterday.” Chip said by way of greeting, having flown onto the back deck and changed there. The cuffs of the pajama pants were muddied, but otherwise he looked the same, which Tristan supposed was part of being a vampire.

“It’s not a problem, hell don’t feel like you have to drop in every day. I’m not trying to interfere with your life or anything.” Tristan opened the door for him, smiling.

“You aren’t. The company is nice.” Chip stepped in cheerfully, smiling back.

“I got you some clothes.”

“Oh! You didn’t have to, these work just fine.”

“I got them anyway. Check the bottom cabinet of the laundry room, I just hope they fit.” He grinned. Chip disappeared down the hallway, and reappeared a few minutes later in the jeans with them cuffed up once, shrugging into shirt, and it was then that Tristan realized something. “Wow, you have no body hair at all do you.”

“Not a lot.” He managed the shirt the rest of the way on and tucked it in. “Lost it about the same time as my hair.”

“So vampires get less hair when they go feral? What are you, an inverse werewolf?”

“Pft hah.” He looked down at himself, smiling. “These will work fine. Probably I wouldn’t need to cuff the pants at all if I bothered with shoes.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

Chip looked at him for a long moment, and the smile broke to a grin. “Yes. Yes I think I am. Best mood I have had in ages, actually.”

“Well, I’m making popcorn and watching a movie. You’re free to join me if you like.” Tristan moved through his kitchen, looking for his popcorn maker, only to nearly jump out of his skin when Chip was suddenly next to him. “JEEZ! Don’t do that.”

“Oh! I am sorry.” Chip looked appalled. “What was I thinking?”

“How the hell should I know?” Tristan wanted to know, digging out his popcorn maker and putting it on the counter. “No offense but I can only guess at how your mind works.”

“None taken, I think that is fair.” Chip watched him set up the popcorn maker and plug it in, loading it with oil and kernels and putting the cover on.

“But hey, if we keep talking maybe I’ll get to figure you out.” When the other just tilted his head slowly, he blinked. “What?”

“You want to figure me out?”

“Well, yeah. I think we’re friends, so yeah.”

Chip smiled. “Gene wasn’t like this. Gene was just nice to me because he said the Bible said to love thy neighbor and various other verses. He was never interested in details.”

“That’s both cool and not cool at the same time.” Tristan shook his head, getting butter out of the fridge. “You’re a person. No reason to get judgmental about it.”

“… Thank you.” He looked away, watching the popcorn start to pop.

“For?”

“Calling me a person. Sometimes I wonder if I am more a monster.”

“Not in this house you aren’t.” Tristan wrapped an arm around Chip’s shoulders and pulled him into a rough and clumsy half hug, the vampire tumbling against him in surprise and looking up at him. “I say you’re a person and when in Rome.”

“Binge eat, visit a Vomitorium, then a public bath?” Chip asked, voice muffled into Tristan’s chest but not pulling away.

“Hah.” He let the smaller man go and dealt with the popcorn, getting it into a large bowl. “What kind of movie do you prefer?”

“I’m not certain. How about you pick something for us?”

“Sure.” He passed the bowl to Chip. “Can you take this into the living room?” Chip stared at it, then him, then wandered off in that direction, so he made two cups of tea and followed a few minutes behind, finding the bowl sitting on the coffee table and Chip sitting on the couch dissecting a piece of popcorn. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen a whole lot of movies recently.” Tristan stated after a few moments, stepping over and setting the mugs down by the bowl.

“No, not really. I’ve been inside more in the past week than I have in the previous year.” Chip replied, picking up one of the mugs and cradling it. “Just pick something, I’m certain I will be amused.”

“Well, okay.” He went to his DVD shelves and stared at them. What to put on someone like Chip? What do show someone who had probably barely seen a colored screen at all besides chance brushes with television? Hell, Chip’s channel hopping had taken him right to black and white TV… Well, clearly some ridiculous color was needed then. He went down to the “W” section of his shelves and grabbed one of the DVDs. “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

“I beg your pardon?” Chip replied.

Tristan grinned, turning on the TV and DVD player, loading it up. “You’ll see.”

He spent the next near two hours watching Chip far more than he watched the movie. The vampire’s reactions ran the full gamut, or near it. His main voiced opinion was “This is entirely ridiculous.” Yet, he didn’t stop watching, ended up slouched against Tristan, hands still wrapped around his mostly empty mug, muffling his laughter into it from time to time. Tristan himself felt oddly satisfied with the arrangement, Chip’s cooler body leaning against him wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

The movie ended, and Chip was watching the elevator fly away, when he shifted to look up at Tristan. “That oddly reminded me of Wizard of Oz.”

“You saw Wizard of Oz, huh?”

“It’s not hard to sneak into theaters when you can turn into fog. I did not make a habit of it though, it felt so dishonest.”

“I think everyone sneaks into a theater at some point in their life.” Tristan stood and went to remove the DVD, looking back and grinning when he saw Chip had just let himself fall to sprawl out on the sofa where Tristan had once been, having set his empty mug on the table. “You’re kind of like an adopted cat, you know that right?”

“No, that’s new.” Chip stayed where he was, watching Tristan. “May I see that?”

“What, this?” He held up the DVD case, then tossed it to Chip.

“They put the movie on this disk?” Chip asked once he got the box open, looking at it. “So much more compact than the old reels they used to use.”

“Cheaper too, and more durable. Yeah, the disks can get scratched but they don’t degrade like film did. Or explode for that matter.”

“Put another in. Something else ridiculous.”

Tristan laughed. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I think I would like to spend tonight in your company and I am rather enjoying being inside and watching these. You spoil me.”

“Ridiculous huh.” He went back to his shelves, and after not a lot of thought, grabbed Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. “I have that in spades.”

He started the DVD and let Chip start watching while he hit the bathroom and got himself a beer, returning to the sofa and poking Chip to move so he could sit down. Chip did, then immediately flopped and claimed his lap, sprawling across it and propping his head on one of Tristan’s legs, watching the TV. “Uh… are you comfortable?”

“Very.” Chip twisted and looked up at him with those weird whirlpool eyes, one ear twitching. “You aren’t?”

He looked down at Chip for a long moment, considering, then shrugged. “I’m good.” That said he settled into the corner of the couch, opening his beer and propping his free arm on Chip’s side. There was a long pause, and Chip sighed, a windy sounding noise. “Wow. That… sounded like it took effort.”

“It did.” Chip settled back in and focused on the screen, ear twitching again. “How is this ridiculous? Everyone is just eating.”

“Oh, just you wait.”

* * *

Tristan let himself sleep in the next morning, getting up at nearly noon and throwing on a pair of jean shorts and a tank top as he staggered through the house and hit go on the coffee machine, scrubbing his eyes and thinking back to the night before.

Chip had become an instant, immediate fan of the Ninja Turtles. He said he found the concept to be equal portions of bizarre and delightful, and had been quite happy to sit through all three movies, though Tristan had to go to bed when the third started, after showing Chip how to shut the DVD player off.

“I don’t even know why I like this. I think it is because… They are different but there is no record against them. It is like, when I say vampire, you think Dracula, Nosferatu, yes?” Chip said, still sprawled across Tristan’s lap. Tristan, meanwhile, had figured out a while ago that he could feel when Chip occasionally inhaled and exhaled, it would have been fascinating all over again if it hadn’t been creepy.

“Yeah, guilty. And some other books, and games.” Tristan replied.

“So you have, in your head, prejudices about what I am and what I am like. About what I do. These fellows, there is nothing against them. They can cut their own way through the world and their only burden is appearance. They are lucky.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s their only burden. I mean, they’re all alone. They are what they’ve got, and they’re a different species.”

“So? It was not so long ago that people thought the black man was a different species of sorts, just for the crime of having skin that resisted the sun.”

“Ouch, dude, ouch.” Tristan shook his head. “I’m going to regret this, but there’s a whole series of cartoons about the Ninja Turtles too. I own some of it, but it’s even more geared for kids so it’s a whole other degree of silly. Like Warner Brothers silly.”

“I may have to watch it another night then. And Warner Brothers? They used to show those cartoons in the theater, before or after news reels. Not just for kids, you know.”

Naturally now, in the late morning light, the living room was empty and the cases for the movies left on the coffee table. The TV and everything else had been shut off. He nodded sleepily, pouring himself a mug of the coffee and stepping out onto his back deck, regarding the pile of supplies for his fire pit and brick oven. Well, he could get that started, at least. Even if he had no idea what he was doing.

Tristan had never been a very physical person. What tools he had used in any amount were for working on electronics, and he found that experience, and his nagging perfectionism about numbers, quickly worked against him. He had bought some do-it-yourself books and quickly found the design he liked the most and laid it out. But building a bench shaped like half a hexagon? He ruined several boards before he fell into a groove and actually felt like he knew what he was doing. In the end, he created a bench that actually looked pretty good, though it still needed a lot of sanding and that took the rest of the day, and the rest of the energy out of his sore, aching arms and shoulders.

Which seemed like as good of a reason as any to throw some steaks on the grill and sit with a beer while they cooked, watching the sun start to set and considering where his life was. Actually? He liked the way things were headed. He liked his house and how it was turning out, especially for the cost. His job was still good, solid and didn’t seem threatened at all, and his boss liked him and his work. Hell, maybe he’d get a raise soon. What to do with that money? Investments he supposed…

His hand shifted and landed on the swing next to him, fingers brushing one of the splintery pockmarks left by the birdshot he’d peppered the swing with. He looked down at it, using a fingernail to pry out the shot and staring at the rough hole in the wood.

_I can’t believe I tried to shoot Chip._

Not that he’d had any idea, of course. But would he change anything if he could? No, he didn’t think so. He was finding that he was becoming quite fond of the other man. He didn’t even mind that Chip was a little cuddly. Hell, he could understand that, the guy had apparently been basically without human contact, let alone close human contact, for decades. Probably a hug would do him a world of good, or in the case of the previous night, laying in Tristan’s lap and watching a movie.

Which was kind of new for Tristan. The closest contact he’d really had with other guys was passing bro hugs. But, he didn’t find himself particularly bothered in any way by it. Nothing to linger on in the long term, he decided cheerfully, flipping his steaks. Just Chip being himself, and he could deal with that.

* * *

Time passed. He finally got the internet hooked up to his new house, and his change of address started working. He had to get used to picking up the mail at the end of his drive on the way home from work. Aaron came out the following weekend with a car full of tools and a determined look on his face. He gave Tristan’s bench for the fire pit a critical eye, and said that besides needing a few coats of wood sealant it passed muster. He even approved of the design Tristan liked. All of which was hilarious because basically Aaron was helping improve Tristan’s house because he’d run out of things he’d been allowed to work on or build at his house.

“You know what a castle needs right?” Aaron said, drinking a beer and pondering the progress made to fire pit and brick oven. “A trebuchet.”

“Why do I need siege equipment?” Tristan wanted to know.

“Why DON’T you need siege equipment?” Aaron replied, producing a how-to book with a manic grin.

“Did you lose another fight with your HOA?”

“How could you tell?”

Tristan rubbed his eyes. “Right, right. You’re vicariously living through my property. Look, make a material list and I’ll see what I can budget in.”

“That’s fair.” He tossed the book on the patio table. “You been okay man? You’ve seemed kind of tired lately.”

“I have?” Tristan blinked, and reflected that was probably true, given staying up to hang with Chip did logically dictate he was getting less sleep here and there. But hell it was something he’d started looking forward to. He’d even found some TMNT shirts at a store at the mall for the vampire, they were sitting in the cabinet waiting for his next visit.

“Yeah. Been in a good mood though. What, you seeing someone behind my back?” Aaron messed up his hair with a grin.

“No, you know you’re my only caramel latte lord of love.” He maintained a straight face for a second, then bolted just before Aaron took a grab at him, running across the yard laughing his ass off.

* * *

The next night, Tristan stepped out on his back porch and found Chip sitting on the progress of the brick oven. “Hey. You’re lucky that’s not still curing.”

“This is for cooking of some kind?” Chip wanted to know.

“Yeah, it’s not finished though. How are you?”

“I’m well.” Chip jumped down easily, landing on his toes and walking over. “Your friend sounded like a nice chap, by the way.”

“Who, Aaron? You heard us?” Tristan blinked at him.

“Of sorts, I was asleep in one of the bat houses and I caught a bit of the conversation by accident. I wasn’t actually intending to be rude.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I got you some shirts, by the way.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to! I already had more clothes than I had in years.” Chip looked stunned.

“Yeah, like that’s a good reason, get in here and try them on.” He grinned.

Chip cheerfully bounced past him and investigated his cabinet in the laundry room, coming out laughing and holding up one of the shirts. “I say! This is actually very thoughtful.”

“Yeah I thought you’d like that. Wish they were better quality though, sorry.”

“Oh, this is more than fine.” He changed shirts right there, pulling the TMNT shirt on and smoothing it, not bothering tucking it in. “Thank you.” And Chip crossed the room in what seemed like two steps, tossing his arms around Tristan and hugging him.

Tristan blinked, then slowly returned the hug, not entirely certain how he felt about Chip’s face nuzzled into his collarbones. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you gay?”

Chip pulled back and blinked at him, and seemed to have to think about it for a moment. “Slang these days. I think you are asking if I am homosexual?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I have in my years enjoyed the love of men and women both.” Chip shrugged. “Variety is the spice of life, and I’ve had years to explore. Though I knew both even when I was alive.” He paused, looking at Tristan. “Can you make us some tea?”

“Yeah, sure.” He wandered to the kitchen. “So, you’re bisexual then?”

“Is that the word? I suppose so then. I was never married but I’ve had some good caretakers, over the years.” Chip followed him and hopped up to sit on the counter, crossing his ankles and watching Tristan. “Which is how people like myself used to get by. We’d invest well, and find caretakers. They’d live well because of our money, we’d live well because of them. I stayed with a married couple that was in a lavender marriage for over a decade. I loved them both very dearly.”

“What happened?”

“The stock market.” Chip shook his head. “The house was owned outright but the money was gone. After that it was only a matter of time.”

“That sucks.” Tristan took the mugs out of the microwave, fishing through his canister of teabags then just holding it out to Chip. “Pick one.”

“It was a long time ago, the better part of a hundred years now.” Chip peered into the canister and picked one, pondering it then nodding. “What about you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, your tastes.”

He had to bite his tongue for a second, and take the question in context of who it was. “I’ve just dated girls. Never really considered another option, honestly.” He opened his teabag. “I mean, I’ve never really felt an attraction to another guy.”

“But?”

“But? But what?” He leaned back against the counter, holding his mug and looking at Chip, who just stared at him in a disapproving way. “Dammit, are you reading my mind or something?”

“I would never. But you’re dancing around something, and it’s like you want me to ask so I did.” Chip turned his nose up. “Don’t blame me for reading between the lines.”

“There’s really not a lot to say. I haven’t had a lot of luck dating is all.” He shrugged.

“Women can be hard to court. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He flicked a hand in the air. “You’ll find one or one will find you.” Chip blinked when Tristan only snorted and took a slow sip out of his mug. “What is so funny?”

“It’s just… it’s sad. All the perfectly nice women I’ve dated have either been boring or turned out to be absolutely insane. I like chicks but you’re singlehandedly the most interesting thing in my life right now, and I’m just fine with that.” He mustered a smile at Chip, who replied by scooting down the counter to be closer to him then pulling him around so he was leaning back against the counter and Chip’s legs, Chip hugging him there for a moment then just letting him lean.

“I’m glad I… Intrigue.” Chip said after several long moments. Tristan smiled again and just leaned there, and it was a while before either bothered speaking again.

* * *

Eventually Tristan went to bed and Chip went outside to do whatever he did. Fly around, eat, be generally other than human, Tristan supposed. But then that wasn’t entirely fair either. Who knew what lurked in Chip’s head. Other than the fact that Chip liked him.

Lying awake and staring at the ceiling, he figured that was obvious. They’d become friends, but was Chip wanting something else or did he simply have no real sense of boundaries? And what did he want out of this? He was happy with Chip as a friend but Chip was someone he could talk to no one else about. God forbid they get in a relationship…

Wait, what? His worst issue with getting into a relationship with another guy was his lack of ability to explain it to anyone else because of what that guy happened to be?

He grabbed one of his pillows and buried his face into it to muffle the groan of frustration. What the hell? Shouldn’t he be turned off? Disgusted? Something? He wasn’t any of the above. He was just… awkward. Okay, he wasn’t exactly attracted to Chip. It was more… curiosity over what Chip was. Was that it? He had no idea. He was lost in a sea of lack of caring while simultaneously just feeling so glad to be interested in something, someone again.

He put his mind back to his previous girlfriends. Yeah, they’d been attractive, but had he been actually attracted or just making some kind of judgment call? He didn’t even know. He didn’t remember and couldn’t make that accurate of analysis anyway, given the context. Certainly he enjoyed the sex when he got it, but it always cycled back to eventual stagnation and boredom.

“Am I asexual?” He said it out loud to test it. That didn’t seem right either. It was more like he wanted to be both mentally and physically engaged, and so far he’d just been physically engaged while his brain went for vacation in Timbuktu. Now, he was mentally engaged and his body was without reference for what was going on.

So, what to do about this?

Carry on, he supposed. See how long he kept interested. See how this played out. After all, why not? The nice thing about not being able to tell anyone about this is he didn’t have to explain himself.

* * *

The next few days were workdays, and Tristan only saw Chip briefly. Which was alright, it let him go about life like it was nearly normal. Like things hadn’t changed too much. Which, oddly enough, let him really think about what was happening.

But thinking about it a bit, over a salad and staring vacantly out the window of the deli at the passing traffic, he came to the conclusion it wasn’t worth worrying about. He’d started looking forward to seeing Chip and spending time with him. It was very possible they’d just stay friends, but if something else happened it didn’t change who he was. He’d roll with it, and try to adapt.

Of course that was easier to say to himself in the middle of the day, than when Chip cheerfully showed up at night. Then it was uneasy and awkward, having no idea what to say or how to start a discussion. The only saving grace is Chip saw it immediately.

“What is wrong? You seem moody.” Chip was putting some clothes in the wash, having taken a shower and changed into a clean outfit.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He was slouched on the couch.

“Anything I can assist with?”

“Well, you’re kind of the problem honestly.”

Chip stuck his head out of the laundry room door, as peculiarly elegant as ever. “Me? What did I do?”

“Honestly? What do you want from me?”

“Didn’t we discuss this the first night I was here?” He ducked back into the laundry room.

“No, man. Me specifically. Are you my friend or are you trying to be something else?”

There was a long semi-silence, during which Tristan could hear the wash being started, then Chip wandered out, leaning a shoulder on the corner of the hallway wall that opened to the living room, looking at him. “Are you asking if I’m intending to court you?”

“Yeah, I uh. I guess I am.” He cleared his throat and looked away.

“I hadn’t given it too much thought.” Chip finally said. “I haven’t actually courted anyone in some time, and I wasn’t certain how you’d feel about it. You do interest me. I was worried about who would buy the house if anyone but you’ve been a very pleasant surprise so far.”

“I have?” Tristan looked at him, and ended up blushing under the intensity of Chip’s gaze.

Chip strolled over to stand in front of him, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Surely you jest.” He leaned over Tristan, hands shifting to his shoulders and looking down at him for a long moment before shifting to sit straddling his lap, looking him in the eyes with his head cocked to one side. Tristan blushed anew, caught totally off guard by this and just freezing under Chip as he returned the gaze. “I’m starting to think that you’re one of the best things that’s happened to me in the last few decades or more.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Tristan wrapped both arms around Chip’s waist and pulled him in, leaning his forehead against the smaller man’s chest. Chip didn’t smell like a person, he was starting to realize. It was an older smell, and made him think of old libraries or a clean but neglected file room. Like paper and age, vaguely dusty but not unpleasant. If nothing else it was odd because there was no real chemistry going on here as near as he could tell. This wasn’t normal physical attraction.

Chip’s hands ruffled through his dirty blonde hair, nail tips scuffing just a bit before shifting to cradle the back of his head and neck, tilting his head back. “You think too much.” He barely murmured this, leaning closer and biting Tristan’s lower lip before full on kissing him.

Tristan startled, then pushed in eagerly, one hand staying on Chip’s lower back the other sliding up to rest between his shoulder blades, eyes closing and relaxing. Chip’s mouth was cool, but gentle and welcoming, nibbling until Tristan parted his lips and met Chip’s tongue with his own, murmuring into it. Now he could feel the fangs, little scratchy points in the embrace, but it wasn’t threatening somehow. Chip tasted of the mint tea he’d been drinking earlier, with a metallic undertone that Tristan couldn’t linger on because Chip wrapped his arms around Tristan’s shoulders and tumbled slowly sideways onto the couch, dragging Tristan with him and holding the kiss.

Tristan grumbled at the awkward, borderline uncomfortable position and shifted without really thinking about it, ending up nearly laying on top of Chip and pushing back into the kiss, shuddering and breaking it when Chip’s nails scratched into his back. “Umm…”

There was a noise from the yard, faint, dismissible, then the window behind the couch exploded inward. Tristan cried out and ducked closer into the couch, clutching Chip close and watching with wide eyes as one of his benches slammed into his TV and shattered the screen before falling to the floor, taking part of the entertainment system with it.

“Holy shit what the fuck.” Tristan said after a long moment. “We are… covered in glass… Shit.”

Chip rolled out from under him, landing on the floor on his toes and fingertips, eyes shining red and looking at the broken window. “Get your shotgun. Now.”

“Hey rabbit lover!” Yelled a voice from outside in the yard. “Come out and play!”

Tristan scrambled off the couch, thankful he was still wearing shoes as he crouched on the floor, trying to stay low as he went for his gun. “Wait, was that the vampire from the other night?” He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Chip leap out the window. “Dammit, Chip!” He stood fully and scrambled for the appropriate closet door, grabbing the shotgun and a handful of shells and heading for the door, opening it to witness a silent standoff.

Chip was standing just in front of the house, arms crossed, glaring at the other vampire, who currently had the other bench propped on his shoulder. Neither was moving, just staring at each other and waiting for the other to flinch. Tristan loaded an incendiary shell and settled his hands, crouching in the doorway and watching the standoff, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I told you not to come back here.” Chip finally said, snarling. “I don’t have that much territory. But to not only come back, but attack me in my safe house?”

The other vampire shrugged, smiling. “Not much of a safe house is it?” That said, he picked the bench off his shoulder and threw it, not at Chip, but at Tristan.

Tristan ended up doing a backwards summersault, sitting on his ass with the gun held up and watching the bench slam sideways into the doorframe and tumble to the deck, counterpointed by an angry roar outside. He scrambled back to his feet and stepped back onto the deck, gun up and watching the fight. Chip had charged the unnamed trespassing vampire, and the fight was now happening where the asshole had been standing, the swing quickly knocked over backwards as the two undead men grappled. It was quickly clear that Chip was trying to keep a grip on the other vampire, and was taking a lot of damage doing so.

“Chip, let me get a shot off!” Tristan shouted in frustration, stepping in as close as he could so he was in the shotgun’s ideal range and still unable to fire because of the closeness of the two fighting. If he pulled the trigger now, he’d hit Chip, plain and simple. But the other two didn’t even seem to hear him, and he winced when the other vampire ducked and put a shoulder into Chip hard, knocking him to the ground and getting out of his grip at the same time before disappearing, becoming a low lying fog.

Chip screeched in pain as he hit the ground, that noise of pain cutting off sharply as he rolled, revealing a torn shirt and ravaged flesh underneath. Tristan’s eyes followed to where Chip had landed and realized the other man had been thrown down onto one of the broken anchor spikes for the swing. Probably quite on purpose but that didn’t make him feel any less like shit as Chip staggered away from the fog, but it quickly overtook him, the other vampire reappearing just as Chip disappeared.

“Not such a badass now are you?!” The other vampire snarled, and Tristan fired, the exotic load tearing free from the shotgun in a shower of fire and sparks that engulfed the vampire almost immediately. And then the vampire was gone, snapped back to fog again.

“God fucking DAMMIT!” Tristan knocked the shell out and reloaded, this time a slug, backing up and lifting the gun back to a ready position.

Their attacker snapped back into existence by the storm cellar door, smoke and steam rising from his body as he coughed and hacked, black pockmark burns peppering his clothes and skin. “Oh, little mortal, you are going to regret that.” His voice croaked then cleared, turning and glaring at Tristan. The fire had done damage, his face was mangled in a way that reminded Tristan of Two Face from Batman, almost.

Then Chip reappeared, a good ten feet above him, and just fell, landing on the other vampire and driving him to the ground. And the fight started anew, oddly one sided on the noise as Chip wasn’t making a sound at all, which is what allowed Tristan to hear a very loudly revving engine.

Coming up his driveway. Very fast, in the middle of the night, while two supernatural beings were tearing apart his backyard.

“Chip! CAR!” He shouted, backing up toward his back deck and taken aback when the unknown vehicle didn’t stop in front of his house, instead skidding around his side yard and into the backyard as he watched, the highbeams lighting up the fight and a muscular figure leaping out of the SUV, surveying the fight for a moment. Tristan caught a decent look at the guy, a tanned, ripped man of indeterminable age wearing cargo pants and a plain black t-shirt that looked nearly painted on, and… gladiator sandals?

Then the man was moving, walking toward the fight, and as he moved, something changed. In retrospect, Tristan wasn’t even sure what he saw. There was a flash, almost a mote of crimson light or fire that seemed to overtake the scene, the fight stopped in a freeze frame. For not even a second, the pause before he blinked, they were somewhere else, there was sand on the ground and the roar of a crowd. Then it all was gone, collapsed and the man was moving so fast he was a blur of red light, hitting the fight full sprint.

The vampires didn’t stand a chance. Tristan didn’t even see a struggle. The fight just… stopped, and suddenly they were both on the ground on their stomachs, the stranger standing with a foot on each of their shoulders, dusting his hands off and grinning at the other man who’d gotten out of the SUV, the driver’s side. This one was skinny and … swarthy looking, almost, curly dark shiny hair to his shoulders and big brown eyes that didn’t quite square with the rest of him.

“I still got it. Malachi, dig out two sets of shackles and some juiceboxes, these guys did some damage to each other.” The stranger standing on the vampires said. The trespassing vampire hissed and struggled, only to strangle out into a whimper of pain when the man dug his heel in. “Cool it, Antonio. You knew we’d catch up to you.” The stranger shook his head and looked at Tristan, who realized he’d let the gun sag a bit and brought it back up to aim. “Hey. Renfield. Lower the gun, we’re on your side.”

“That’s yet to be seen. Who, and what, are you?” He watched the other man come around the SUV, having shut the engine off and the headlights, hauling two sets of old school iron shackles of some variety.

“Call me Roman. What I am isn’t important other than I’m currently operating as vampire police, and the one under my right foot has been on the run from the law for a while now. I imagine you belong to the other one huh?” The man regarded the two he was standing on. Chip was limp on the ground, silent and unmoving, not protesting as the other stranger put a collar and shackles on his arms. The setup locked his forearms together behind his back, a chain running between that and the collar. “Feral. That’s interesting.”

“I don’t ‘belong’ to anyone. I live here.” He lowered the gun slightly. “Vampire police?”

“Antonio here has been a very, very bad boy, and has created messes that were very hard to cover up and generally deal with. As such, he’s facing the judgment of his peers. I don’t normally get involved in their workings but one of his messes involved a piece of my property.” Roman watched the other man, Malachi apparently, cuff and collar Antonio, then stepped off both of them, grabbing the chains and cheerfully yanking backwards to a symphony of swearing from Antonio and a tiny, horrible noise from Chip. “Sit on your butts, boys, and stay that way. Malachi, you got it from here for the moment.” That said, he strolled over to Tristan. “You lowering that weapon or what?”

Tristan gave up and did, letting the shotgun hang in one hand at his side. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I was actually going to ask that you do that.” Roman nodded toward the vampires. “One’s been lit on fire and the other has a sucking chest wound and that’s just for starters. Care to tell me where you fit into this?”

Tristan gestured vaguely, retreating into the house and coming out with two beers, passing one to the stranger then opening his mechanically while he ran down the basics. That this was his house outright, that Chip lived here and had for many years, and that this was the second time that the other vampire, Antonio, had caused trouble.

“I won’t lie, I’m not happy. Broken window, busted TV, my lawn furniture, and Chip got hurt again.” He looked across the yard. Malachi had brought out a cooler and had removed something from it. “… Holy shit, is that donated blood?”

“Yeah, but don’t get your panties in a twist, it’s my blood. I’m just that nice of a guy.” Roman took a swig of his beer, sitting on Tristan’s porch steps. “I’d say I don’t blame you for being pissed off but you’re actually taking this rather well. I know some people who can set your stuff right, no charge.”

“That might help mend some bridges.”

“Look kid, it’s chance that you got caught up in all this. Antonio is going with us, you won’t be hearing from him again ever, I guarantee that. What he did here only adds to a long list of chaos he’s caused. Such things aren’t taken lightly.”

“Honestly I think I’m reassured that someone’s monitoring the situation.”

“I’d rather keep you the hell out of it from here on out. Take these two off your hands and ask you to keep your mouth shut.” When Tristan looked at him, Roman smiled. “Uh huh. I take it you’d be unhappy if we took your feral friend.”

“Yeah, I would be. Chip hasn’t done a thing, I don’t see why he should be punished.”

“You’re right, he hasn’t, but this would be more about recovery. I don’t know how he’s hid out here this long. Probably his peers would rather get him back into the system and recover him to fully human in appearance again.” They were cut off by a yowl of pain, both stopping and looking at Chip, who was curled forward as well as he could be, face contorted, the noise trailing into choked sobs. Roman only rolled his eyes and lifted his voice. “Suck it up, pointy ears, I know my blood hurts like hell but it’s doing you a world of good. Glad to hear your lungs work again.”

“Your blood hurts him?” Tristan was baffled.

“Yes and no. It’s healing him but he’s not enjoying it one bit.” Roman snickered. “As well he shouldn’t.” He killed the beer and stood up, setting the empty on the porch railing. “Come on, let’s go over and talk this out.”

Tristan followed him over to where Malachi stood watching over the two shackled vampires, giving him a long look. “So you are a….?”

“Yes, most definitely.” Malachi agreed, in one of the gentlest voices Tristan had ever heard in his life. Like the Buddha had gotten stoned and become a Kindergarten teacher. “Your friend is recovering fine, it’s just the initial shock got to him.” He turned his gaze to Roman. “Antonio refused the blood, naturally.” Now the gentle voice was chiding.

“Of course he did. Unlock the feral, would you please?”

“Oh, the abomination vampire gets to go free?” Antonio hissed.

“Well, yes, mostly because he’s not a criminal.” Roman replied.

“Forgive me for bringing our conventions into this.” Chip said carefully as the collar was removed, then the arm shackles. “He trespassed here and attacked my human once before. I told him if he came back, I was going to consume him. I’d like to ask privilege to carry out territory law.”

“Sorry, sport. You’ve been trumped by vampire council on this one. He’s being locked in a steamer trunk and taken back to answer for a long list of fuckups. Your friend has spoken up for you though, or we’d be possibly taking you as well.”

“I don’t think I’d enjoy that.” Chip managed dignity. “I would, however, appreciate another round of blood if you could afford it, as you have denied me consumption.”

“Fair enough, hell, you can have two for all I care.” Roman dug into the cooler and tossed Chip the two bags. “There’s your juice packs. Try to stay off the radar, I don’t want to come out here to deal with you someday.”

Chip juggled them to one hand and put a hand up to Tristan, getting help back to his feet to a noise of disgust from Antonio. “You, trespasser, are an incomparable asshole.”

“Oh I’ll carry that to the grave I assure you.” Antonio replied snidely.

“That’s enough.” Roman grabbed the chain and drug the protesting vampire to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you packed away.”

Tristan watched the other vampire get drug to the back of the SUV, then had his attention grabbed by Chip, who’d bitten one of the blood packs open and was managing to drink greedily and hiss in pain at the same time. It was like trying to watch someone shotgun a bottle of moonshine. “Dude. Is it that bad?”

“It’s delicious but oh it burns on the way down.” Chip replied, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I don’t know what that fellow is but it’s something very, very old. May I put this one if your icebox?”

“Sure. Why not?” Tristan stared at his broken window despondently.

“We’ll call our cleanup crew on the way out. They’ll be here in the morning, bright and early, to clean and repair everything. On us of course.” Roman said, coming back around the car and offering Tristan a business card. “Email me once everything’s dealt with.”

Tristan took the card, not surprised that it had no name, or business name, just a phone number and email. “So what do you do when you’re not chasing criminal vampires?”

“I manage money for the supernatural. Not exciting but necessary, and profitable.”

“I’m an accountant.”

Roman lifted an eyebrow. “Really. Send me your resume along with that email.” That said, the two climbed in the SUV and it slowly turned and rolled out, leaving Tristan standing in the yard, staring after it.

* * *

There wasn’t much they could do for the living room. The glass was swept and vacuumed up easily enough, but nothing could be done for the television. They put it on the porch by the door, and put the benches back out in the yard. Not having anything appropriate to cover the gaping broken window with, Tristan got out binder clips and clipped and taped the drapes shut to cover the hole, hoping that whatever repair crew Roman was talking about was equipped to fix a picture window.

It was only then, solemnly pondering their handiwork, that reality suddenly hit Tristan hard.

He reeled, shaking his head sharply and then just sitting on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest as trembles started to wrack his body. Yeah, at the time he’d acted as well as he could, but now, what the fuck? What was happening to his life? For god’s sake, vampires and who knows what else had taken over.

“Rabbit?” Then Chip was kneeling next to him, arms wrapping around him and holding him close, cheek leaning on the back of his neck. “Oh, you are shaking.”

“I, I, I…” Tristan stammered helplessly, then leaned into Chip’s arms and shut his eyes, letting the other man support him for a few minutes. It was like being held by a statue, such was Chip’s solid stillness, only disturbed by the occasional inhale and exhale, and that was oddly comforting as he felt exhaustion creep through his body. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it has been a hard night.” Chip’s smile could be felt as he rubbed his cheek on the back and side of Tristan’s neck slowly, and the hair there stood on end because Tristan felt the change.

“Whoa, wait.” He leaned back and twisted to look at Chip, lifting a hand and rubbing the back of it against one of Chip’s cheeks. Chip leaned into it, smiling. “Dude, you have beard stubble.”

“I, what?” He rubbed his own face, blinked, and let go of Tristan, standing and going to the bathroom. Tristan followed and watched the vampire ponder the mirror only to laugh and vigorously rub his face with both hands. “So I do! That’s interesting.”

“Peach fuzz too.” He rubbed a hand over Chip’s head, smiling. “We’ll see if you get any actual hair out of it. Did you used to have a beard?”

“Oh, I kept a goatee when alive.”

“I can’t imagine that to save my life.” He blinked, then looked down at Chip’s shirt and pants. “Well, that’s another destroyed set of clothing.”

Chip looked down at himself. “As you say, we fight dirty.” He shrugged out of his shirt, twisting and looking in the mirror at the still-shiny patch of skin where the puncture wound had been. “That healed well.”

“I can’t believe one of your bad wounds was done by my yard furniture.” Tristan reached out and rubbed the patch of skin. “You’re lucky you can heal like that.” Chip arched and seemed to purr at this touch, shifting to snuggle against Tristan’s chest. “Yeah we were kind of rudely interrupted, weren’t we?”

“Yes, we were. That kiss was enjoyable.”

He put up a hand between himself and Chip. “Brush your teeth first.”

Chip blinked twice, then burst into laughter, leaning his forehead against one of Tristan’s shoulders. “I suppose I should also clean up again, hm?”

“Yeah, you probably should. I’ll grab you some clean clothes.” He rubbed Chip’s back with one hand then let him go.

“Those sleeping pants would be nice.”

“Sure.” He stepped out of the bathroom, hearing Chip rummage in his medicine cabinet behind him as he went down two doors to the little laundry room. The momentary panic had passed, and how he found himself… oddly comfortable. Chip was still here and Chip was his, it seemed. Good enough for now. He could work out the details later. So he grabbed the pajama pants he’d given Chip and a random plain t-shirt, carting them back to the bathroom.

Chip was still brushing his teeth, but had turned the shower on, and his jeans were undone, slouching on his hips and barely staying up. When Tristan reappeared he lifted an eyebrow, Chip spat into the sink, clearing his mouth and rinsing the brush before grinning at him. “I think you should join me.”

“What, in the shower?” Tristan blinked, setting the outfit on the sink edge.

“What else could I mean?” He reached out and grabbed Tristan’s shirt, reeling him in and still grinning. “I would like help scrubbing the dried blood off.”

“Uh, this is kind of fast isn’t it?” He replied, clearing his throat awkwardly but not backing away.

“Oh, Rabbit. I did mean it when I said you think too much.” That said, Chip pushed up and kissed Tristan again, claw tips scratching him just a bit through the shirt, and Tristan decided Chip was probably right about that.

Chip didn’t seem like he was in any serious rush though. His still healing body was marked with strangely sweet smelling, drying sticky blood, and he seemed perfectly happy standing under the shower spray, hands on one of the walls to brace himself as Tristan cheerfully scrubbed him down with a washcloth. The feral vampire actually had a decent living blush to his skin, probably brought on by Roman’s blood Tristan figured. Beyond that, he was entirely without a tan, without freckles. He had a skinny wiry body that barely gave at all under Tristan’s hands. No bodyfat at all, just lean muscle built up by what had apparently been most of a century of hard survival.

And really he never had even considered bathing another man, but he found himself strangely comfortable with what he was doing. There was something oddly compelling about touching Chip, that chill living flesh under his hands and the vampire’s appreciative purring noises as he worked. Afterwards he just leaned against Chip’s back and set his chin on one of his shoulders. “Better?”

“Very much so, thank you.” Chip twisted in his grip and draped his arms over Tristan’s shoulders, looking up at him with barely open eyes. “You’re not shaking anymore. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah.” He lifted a hand and rubbed it over Chip’s scalp, feeling the barest hint of downy hair there, nearly invisible. Ash blonde or something, he thought, then stopped thinking when one of Chip’s hands stroked down his throat then continued straight down his front, claws just barely dragging then shifting to his fingerpads to grope Tristan. “Nnngh, hey now.”

Chip only laughed, a warm delightful rolling sound that just didn’t fit his appearance at all. He nuzzled his face into Tristan’s neck and shoulder, nibbling and licking there, his warm soft mouth everywhere with just the faintest hint of sharp fangs to punctuate it. Tristan groaned and sagged into Chip’s arms, shuddering as he was slowly palmed over, then grabbed and stroked. “I think I forgot how warm living people are.” Chip’s voice was quiet, and full of something that sounded like wonder. Tristan kept his arms wrapped around him, turning his head and biting Chip’s ear, grinning when he felt the vampire shudder. “Oh, do that again.”

Tristan murmured, tongue curling around the shell of Chip’s ear then biting again, hissing between his teeth when Chip started stroking him in earnest, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Which he was more than fine with, pushing into the attention, hips shifting with it as he nibbled and licked at Chip’s ear. The pointy flared thing was the perfect target, and they were apparently very sensitive because the noises Chip made were borderline animal, little whimpers and groans. But then he realized something as he leaned in as close as he could, Chip’s other hand grabbing his ass, claws poking just enough to get his attention. “You’re not hard.”

“Later.” Was all Chip said, tongue running a line of cool pins and needles across his chest and over one of his nipples, and the end hit Tristan hard, muffling a loud groan into one of Chip’s shoulders as he came.

Chip supported him easily, shifting them in the water to wash it away, nuzzling his face against Tristan’s, his new five o’clock shadow scraping gently. Tristan sighed and relaxed, smiling in spite of himself, eventually pulling back and looking at Chip’s gloriously blue eyes. “Later, huh.”

“Mmm.”

Tristan shut the water off and opened the shower door, grabbing two towels and passing one. Instead Chip grabbed both, draping one over his shoulders and using the other to dry Tristan, starting with ruffling through his hair then working his way down. “I can’t say I don’t enjoy the attention…”

“You want and need some attention and I’m more than happy to oblige.” The towel stroked over his legs then was passed over, Chip drying himself off, which went fairly fast given he was nearly hairless. “I feel like retiring to your bed with you.”

“Mm, yes please.”

He staggered free of the bathroom, led by the hand by Chip down the hall and into the bedroom where they fell together, Chip rolling on top and kneeling over him, clawed hands spread over his chest, claws scratching over the still tingling patches and pulling lines of goose bumps in their wake. “I think I’ll keep you.” This was stated carelessly, Chip’s head tilted to one side.

“Should I be scared?” Tristan wanted to know, sprawling under him. “I feel like I should be, I mean it’s kind of weird that I’m not.”

“Most people would be.” Chip admitted, leaning down and pressing a warm, soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re… used to me. “

“You’re evading…” He turned his head, mouthing at one of Chip’s ears again and rewarded with a guttural moan.

“My people have magic. We call it presence. Some call it glamour. It can make others more comfortable with us. It… muffles the fear.” Chip settled in on top of him, nuzzling into his neck. “I have tried not to use on you but we cannot turn it off.”

“So, I’m under your spell.” Tristan lifted an eyebrow.

He leaned back up and looked at Tristan. “You don’t seem upset.”

“Oh, I’m not.” He pulled Chip up into an embrace, holding him close and rolling on top, sinking on top of the smaller man. Chip just laughed into the embrace, claws shifting to scratch a bit at his back. “After all it seems more like I’m keeping you.” He added, satisfied when Chip’s cock finally stirred against one of his hipbones, finally entering the conversation. “You willing to explain that to me?”

“That’s simple. Takes blood…. Ohhh you are evil…” Chip writhed under him when he curled his hand around Chip’s half hard cock and stroked up, going after one of Chip’s ears again.

“Are you complaining?” Tristan wanted to know, musing that he might have found the only warm spot on Chip’s body.

“No, no, no.” Chip clung to him, lightly biting at one of his shoulders, fangs scratching but not drawing blood. Well, yet, anyway.

“Well, how do you want to do this then?” He didn’t bother bringing up his lack of experience. He was pretty good at singing along without knowing the exact lyrics.

“Please just SHUT UP and put your cock in me. Tell me you have oil though…” Chip’s fangs and nails scratched harder, Tristan was starting to suspect the other man was going to turn into a beast once things began ramping up.

“Oil? Oh, wait, I get you.” He rolled off and went to rummage through his dresser. Unpacking had displaced everything. But he found what he was looking for, biting his lower lip not to laugh as Chip whined on the bed. “Not a patient man, are you.”

“You are not a hippie commune but you will do, please get back over here.” He had propped himself up on his hands, watched Tristan walk back over and crawl on the bed, only to completely crumble back down when Tristan’s lube-slick fingers started touching him.

It took longer than Tristan figured. Chip was madly cycling between relaxed and plastic under his hands, accepting, and manic tense excitement. It made it hard for him to gauge any sort of progress, and it took a lot of low calm words into one of Chip’s ears for him to even out, though his trembling hands still gripped at Tristan’s shoulders and back, a clear indication of just how much effort it was taking the vampire to relax out.

“Why are you so tense?” He finally asked, having fought his way to three fingers inside Chip, slowly rocking them and relieved when Chip didn’t tense back up.

“It’s been a long time, and…”

Tristan cut him off with a hard kiss, then said, “Remember you telling me I think too much?”

“Mmmmnhhm.” Chip’s eyes were shifting too, that ungodly blue now shot with red in a way that made them almost look purple tinged, hissing and baring his fangs when Tristan pulled his fingers out. “Point taken.”

Chip tried to help with the condom but Tristan gently brushed his hands away, mostly for fear of those fairly sharp claws. That done he leaned over him and kissed him, letting the other man’s arms and legs wrap around him and tug at him, feeling toe claws scratching into the back of his thighs but just rubbing against him until the noises the smaller man made were tiny and desperate. Only then did he start pushing forward, and the noises cut off, Chip going silent and hiding his face into Tristan’s shoulder as he trembled.

He settled in, hips connecting to Chip’s solidly, shuddering. Yeah, the low chill was jarring. He could feel it all through his body actually, because “warm” for the vampire was still many degrees sub human body temperature, but the tight grip on him made up for it. He let out a slow breath and shifted, looking at Chip and moving hand to cup the side of his face. Chip looked back, irises almost solid red now but expression pleased. “You okay?”

“Mm. Yes. So warm.” Chip sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, swearing and squirming a bit when Tristan ground in. “If you don’t start doing something with that…!”

So he did, pushing up on his hands as his hips started rocking and getting a stuttered hiss in response. Feeling Chip’s hands scratch at him again, he impulsively grabbed both and pinned Chip’s wrists to the bed, leaning there and grinning when Chip swore and struggled for a moment. He could feel some real inhuman strength trembling in those arms, yet Chip didn’t use any of it, but he put on one hell of a show. Especially when he dug his toes in and thrust harder, hips snapping into Chip, leaning down and biting the vampire’s neck, pulling the flesh in his teeth gently.

Chip howled and snarled, arms jerking under Tristan’s grip but staying there, body swaying with the impact of the thrusts. He was worried he’d pushed his limits too far, then the next outcry was a gargled moan of his name that trailed into a hiss when he bit again, running a line of attention around to Chip’s throat before biting there. The next thing Chip said didn’t even sound like English, and when he ground against him again, worrying his teeth there, Chip kept talking , slurred and quiet, and he realized it was in fact French the vampire had started speaking.

“Tristan, Tristan…” Then back into French, and he realized Chip probably hadn’t spoken it in a hell of a long time, which only made it flattering. But whatever he was asking for was apparently answered when he started thrusting again, because Chip trailed back out into groans and growls. He pushed back up on his arms and stared down at him, and Chip stared back, twitching his arms against his grip once.

He got the hint and moved his hands, letting the other go and letting himself be tugged down lower. He wasn’t surprised when Chip’s tongue lapped along his shoulder, the cool tingle punctuated by fangs. He’d almost been expecting the vampire to do something like this, but the feeling was a shock, his whole body jumping a bit. At first there was just a jolt of pain and the feeling of a raw, open wound, soreness like after he’d gotten his tattoo, and made his rhythm stutter more than a bit. Then Chip’s mouth wrapped over the bite.

When Chip had used his wrist, he’d felt it into his torso. This, he felt all the way down his spine, and this time the pleasure wasn’t a vague tantalizing flutter at the edge of danger, no this time it was a battering ram. He gasped and groaned, hips falling into the same beat as the suction on his wound, then Chip’s claws stroked down his spine before scratching up his back and he went limp.

“Chip, I, I…”He couldn’t even get the words out, overwhelmed and embarrassed at the same time because he simply couldn’t handle this and thrust at the same time. He was rocking with an ocean wave, and under him he could feel Chip’s heart actually thundering in his chest, not only beating but beating urgently. “I…”

“Let go, Tristan.” Chip’s voice was something beyond a purr, velvet and wet and alive and raw, tongue dragging to lap up a trickle of blood coming from the wound. If that wasn’t a command, Tristan’s body had no idea because it obeyed, and he came so hard it seemed like an epiphany, shaking and going boneless on top of Chip.

When Tristan started paying attention again, Chip was purring under him and his shoulder was already healing up from the bite. He somehow managed to roll off and stagger to the bathroom to clean up, legs wobbling in a way that also made him go to the kitchen and pound down some orange juice before wobbling his way back to the bedroom, working his way through a handful of cookies.

Chip was waiting for him, having turned the bed down and sprawled out there. His skin was bright and flushed, he would have looked every bit alive if not for the ears. “Are you all right, Rabbit?”

“I’m good.” He sat on the edge of the bed, scarfing down the rest of the cookies. “Just taking a few precautions. I might call in sick, tomorrow.”

“I would not blame you at all.”

He shut the lights off and crawled back into bed, wrapping his arms and spooning around Chip happily. Chip only let out a sigh and went still. Tristan doubted he’d actually sleep, but Chip’s willingness to lay there with him was good enough for him.

* * *

His foiling of the bedroom windows before dawn did not stop Chip from hiding under the bed with one of the blankets.

“Look, I’ll get some theater curtains soon but as tacky as this is, it’s actually the most effective way to block light.” Tristan finally said, sitting on the edge bed. “There’s got to be a better way to do this.”

He got no reply. Chip was dead asleep. Possibly just dead until sunset. He wasn’t actually sure how it worked.

So he slept a bit longer, able to content himself that Chip was at least nearby, and was eventually roused by pounding on the front door. So he got up and found a pair of jeans and a shirt to throw on, going to the door groggily, rubbing the healing bite on his shoulder. “Hi?”

He was greeted by five men and two work trucks, the men looking at him seriously. “We’re cleaners. Roman requested we come by and restore any damage done.”

“Oh. Right. Come on in.”

He hastily called in, a bit belatedly, to work while the men surveyed the damage and measured out the broken window. Lists were made and one truck left to get what was needed as the other was loaded with what was broken, including lawn furniture. Tristan made coffee for them and sat on one of the surviving chairs on the porch, watching the progress.

And realized, slowly, bit by bit, that this was the happiest he’d been in a while.

Good enough.


End file.
